“They always go in little flocks, or companies, probably, in general, of more than one brood, and frequently are accompanied with the white-breasted nuthatch, or tomtit, as he is sometimes called in the country, and also with the small woodpecker, and sometimes, in spring and fall, with the golden-crested wren,――a beautiful and very small bird, with a bright flame-colored spot on the crown of his head,――and sometimes by the brown creeper. Their food consists, in a great part, of insects, though at some times in the year, partly of seeds and of various kinds of oily substances. They frequently in the winter come around our houses and woodsheds, to pick among whatever offal is thrown out from the kitchen, and often become very familiar. I sometimes hang up bones and little bits of meat by my woodshed, to which many of them continue to resort and pick at them, day after day. Sometimes they venture into my wash-room; and one day this winter, they were so bold that I clapped my hand on one as he was feeding, and caught him and took him into my kitchen, where, after a few minutes, he began to feed upon a bone that I hung up there. He also sung his chicadee-dee-dee several times while I kept him in the house. “He has another note or song, which, although not so merry and cheerful as his common one of chicadee, is much softer and sweeter, but is not so often heard. On fine pleasant days of summer, and especially on a delightful spring morning, you may hear him, perched on the top of a tree, utter at short intervals a note of two syllables, sounding like the word Phe-be,――the sound rising on the first syllable, and falling on the last, and sounding delightfully sweet.” The Two Travellers. A FABLE. FOR MERRY’S MUSEUM, FROM THE FRENCH. A cunning fellow named Thomas, and his friend Lubin, were going to a neighboring city, on foot. Thomas found upon the road-side a well-filled purse. Lubin, with a contentful face, exclaimed, “What a windfall for US!” “For US is not quite right: say rather for ME,” replied Thomas. Lubin said no more, but in leaving the plain, they discovered some robbers hid in the adjacent wood. Thomas trembled, but not without cause, and turning to Lubin, said, “We are lost.” “WE is not the true word, but YOU,” replied Lubin, and then scampered away. Thomas, almost petrified with fear, stood still, and was soon caught and gave up the purse. MORAL.――He who only thinks of himself in his happy days, will have very few friends in his unhappy ones. G. V. K. To our Correspondents. We are under many obligations to our little friends, who write us letters, and pay the postage. If they do not pay the postage, they do not often come to us; and when they do, they receive no notice. We insert the letter of our Providence admirers, and will comply with their request in part; they shall see a piece of music in the next number.